


Aisling

by Carrogath



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Past Relationship(s), Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: Angela visits Dublin to retrieve sensitive information, and gets more than she bargained for, naturally.





	Aisling

Angela had pictured the place as though it belonged in a luxury magazine travelogue: _Three Perfect Days in Dublin_. Should she visit St. Stephen’s Green? Trinity College? Would her compassionate soul draw her instead to Kilmainham Gaol? Or was her thirst so great that she would end up completely hammered in one of the dozens of Irish pubs littered around the city, boasting their endless selections and seasonal specials and courting the attention of every drunken tourist in town? She had voluntarily taken disulfiram before the trip, knowing that her craving to drink here had less to do with addiction and more to do with whom she was meant to meet. Either way, if she was going to spend a few days here, she might as well make it as pleasant for herself as possible. There would be Christmas lights on Grafton Street. Maybe she could buy a souvenir or two on her way out.

She had time, money. After Overwatch had disbanded, she found herself with more spare time than she had ever had before in her life. She could have found employment in any major city on the planet. She could have devoted her time to research. She could have retired early and hung up her white coat for good. True, she was addicted to the rush—to praise, to awards, to attention, to the sheer _sensation_ of feeling needed; if anyone was going to do it, it might as well be her, and it might as well be done right. She could go anywhere, do anything. A vacation in Dublin, in the grand scheme of things, might not have been so unwarranted.

She pulled her muffler tighter around her neck as she waited for her taxi at the hotel. The pricing had been mid-range; check-in was automated. The only human employee she recalled seeing was the concierge, a red-faced, nervous-looking man with a thick Irish accent who had stared at her as though he had never seen a woman in his life.

The taxi pulled up on the curb by the hotel entrance, and lowered slightly as Angela stepped in. She rattled off the address she had memorized, and the coordinates appeared on the touchscreen below the windshield. Angela touched the screen to confirm it, wondering idly why her host would arrange for them to meet in the smallest, most obscure alleyway she could find. If Moira had been the type to kidnap people in dark alleyways, Angela might have canceled her trip and stepped out of the car then and there.

She wasn’t. Angela’s drink would be laced with sedatives, or Moira would attempt to charm her into accompanying her somewhere, or the other patrons would in fact not be mere restaurant goers, and whatever the case they both knew each other well enough that the possibility of any of those things happening wouldn’t keep Angela away.

Angela put her handbag in her lap. The taxi started off at a quiet hum. The time displayed on the touchscreen was 8:15. There were options listed for heated seats, TV, radio, air conditioning, and GPS navigation in case Angela had entered in the wrong address. She scrolled through the radio options. Football. Talk shows. Rock music. An Enya cover band. Really? That was before Reinhardt’s time, even. One station was completely in Irish. She turned it off and opted for complete silence instead, and before she even had the time to get properly lost in her thoughts, a sexless electronic voice notified her that she had arrived at her destination.

She took a moment to glance through the windows. It was, in fact, a foggy one-lane street hemmed in by brick buildings on either side, but the cafe entrance was indeed where Moira said it would be, marked in old-fashioned gilded letters. She had originally suggested dinner rather than breakfast, which Angela had refused, and Angela supposed that getting her alone in a dark corner of the street in the daytime was Moira’s next best bet.

Despite the old-fashioned storefront, the interior was decidedly industrial: wine glasses and salt and pepper shakers atop unpolished tables, rounded wooden chairs lacking cushions, visible piping, walls painted white, a massive chalkboard displaying the day’s brunch specials and accompanying beer and wine selections, and a very visible bar area that seemed more to Moira’s taste—all carved and lacquered wooden surfaces and dozens upon dozens of bottles of wine and liquor. The cafe housed maybe forty people and was about a third full. The waiters were omnic, and Moira was leaning against the bar looking as though she belonged there.

She turned around as the door opened, and her expression grew hard. “Angela,” she said, faux geniality edging her voice. “Why, if it isn’t the most decorated doctor in the modern world. What brings you to Dublin?”

“Here,” she said, smiling in turn, “in the same restaurant at the same time as you? One has to wonder.”

Moira walked over to her and pulled one of the nearby chairs out from a table. “Take a seat.”

Angela stared at her.

“What?” she said. “It’s self-seating.”

She sat down in the offered chair and felt an immediate discomfort as Moira unbuttoned her coat and seated herself across from her. As always, Moira looked as uncomfortable at the table as Angela felt; nothing in the world was ever quite to her size. Moira was dressed in a dark gray turtleneck with a wide collar that disguised her shape surprisingly well. An omnic greeted them and dropped off their menus before returning to their kitchen.

Eggs Benedict with baby spinach and arugula, smoked salmon with capers and cream cheese on rye, pancakes with lemon curd and ricotta, beer batter waffles and fried chicken…

“For the coffee, she’ll have two sugars, no cream. I’ll have mine black,” said Moira, without looking up at the omnic who had returned to their table.

“Will you have anything else to drink?”

“Waters for both of us, please,” said Angela.

The omnic nodded and then puttered away.

“I hope you’re not expecting any whiskey in your coffee,” said Moira.

“There certainly seems to be enough to spare.” Angela looked back at the bar.

“They have charcuterie small plates for brunch here,” she said. “If you haven’t noticed already, French cuisine is all over the place. I know how you like your cheeses.”

“Mm.” Angela pinched her chin as she inspected the menu. Moira was still looking at her. The both of them were hard to miss—Moira with her height and mismatched eyes, and Angela who turned heads wherever she went.

“You were in Iraq for the longest while,” said Moira, softly.

That made her look up.

“Not once did I see you in Oasis.”

Angela pressed her lips together.

“It’s not your kind of city. But it’s hardly to your benefit to ignore its existence, either. What were you doing in Iraq, Angela?”

“I was assisting soldiers fighting Null Sector groups outside of Baghdad.”

“Controlled by the Anubis AI.”

“Of which there are… segments undergoing research in Oasis, I’m aware,” she said.

“How many times have you visited? Once? Twice, maybe?”

Angela clutched her handbag underneath the table.

“We may not agree on the ethics of the place, but even you have to realize how detrimental it would be for you to remain ignorant of it. At least tell me you’re reading the news.”

“I am.”

The omnic arrived with their coffee and took their orders: the salmon for Moira, the eggs Benedict for Angela, and a charcuterie plate to split between them. Angela sipped her steaming hot coffee and glanced out at the dreary landscape through the window, where the sky was gray and drizzling.

“Ever open to new ways of thinking, I see.” Moira blew on her coffee, grasping the mug in one of her large, gnarled hands. Angela hated the way the skin on them was beginning to sag, how the veins were beginning to bulge. “You’d put Asimov to shame.”

“You have something for me,” said Angela.

“Perhaps.” Moira brought the mug to her lips and tilted it back. “How are you liking Dublin? It’s been a few years, hasn’t it.”

“It hasn’t changed much.”

“Oh? The Christmas lights this year are just… grand.” She sighed and stared out the window. “Co-designed by a human and an omnic, because if we were to ever agree with London on anything I think the world really would end.”

Angela shifted in her seat. “You work for Talon,” she said quietly.

“Are you thinking of returning to Overwatch?”

“What’s the point.”

Moira grinned. “Well, you’re not about to join Talon.”

“You would prefer me to be there.” Angela downed more of her coffee, after it had cooled.

“Not at all.”

“With you,” she said.

Moira looked at her, and then looked away again. “What would you do there, Angela?”

She bit her lip. “What are you doing there, Moira?”

“I’m doing what I always do. I work.” There was no bite to her tone, no real anger. She put down her coffee. “Dawn till dusk. Every day.”

Angela clutched the edge of the table. What was she even doing here right now? Anger smoldered away in her chest. Of course. Moira always pretended as though she’d never had a choice, as though she had been the victim of a cruel, uncaring community, as if the restraints that commonsense ethics placed upon her was a burden so great that she was incapable of bearing it.

It was one meal. Angela stared down at the napkin in her lap.

“At least tell me you’re sorry,” said Angela.

Moira looked down at her cutlery, and then out at the window again. “For what? What we had was never much of anything.”

They were quiet for a long time, until their charcuterie plate arrived. Angela finished most of the cheese and Moira the meats and spreads. It was almost like a date.

“You wanted to see me,” said Angela. “That’s why you called me here.”

“I’ve been found out,” said Moira, dryly. She hadn’t made eye contact since Angela asked her for an apology, and her knees constantly bumped against the table.

“How are the joints?”

“Fine,” she lied. “They’re not built to last, but so long as we live in an era where they can be replaced, I’ll manage.”

Angela opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She wasn’t called “Dr. O’Deorain” for nothing.

Another several minutes of silence passed between them. Moira was never much good at small talk, at least when she was trying to be earnest. Her hair was slicked back in the usual fashion and though the years had aged her, she was still perfectly recognizable as the Blackwatch geneticist, the woman whom Angela had thought it completely inconsequential to involve herself with so many years ago, back when the possibilities seemed limitless. Back when she believed she really could do anything. Even bring someone back from the brink.

“You hurt me,” Angela said, not expecting a response.

“How so?” asked Moira. “By being myself?”

She was hungrier than she thought she would be when breakfast arrived. Moira finished hers faster than Angela did. Angela wiped Hollandaise sauce from the corner of her mouth and checked her phone. 9:35.

“Still got a whole day ahead of you.”

Angela looked up at her. “Why did you ask me to come?”

“Why do you think? I missed you. I heard you were in Iraq for over half a year. I had to see you, even if I had to bribe you to do it.”

She furrowed her brow. “That can’t be all.”

“Can’t it? Suppose,” said Moira, “suppose it weren’t. Then what? I would kidnap you? I would take you to Talon, or my lab in Oasis? Modify your genes?” Her expression grew heavy as she leaned over the table. “What for, Angela? It was a tryst, a sorry little love affair that both you and I knew would never amount to anything. I was just glad for the attention, and you… Well, I can hardly assume what you were thinking back then. Maybe you found me novel. Maybe you have a peculiar attraction to chest deformities. I don’t know. I can’t say I would know.”

Angela clenched her teeth and looked down. She couldn’t have been _that_ stupid.

Then she looked up at her. “Where are you headed after this?”

She rested her elbows on the table. “They have a show at the Dublin City Gallery. I figured I’d go before returning home.”

“To Oasis?”

She didn’t respond.

“You know why it didn’t work out,” said Angela.

“I know. But you came back.”

Angela looked down at the concrete floor, stunned into silence. “I suppose I did.”

“Why do you think I called you, Angela?” She sat up straight. “You have to admit we think alike.”

She laughed dryly. “Keep dreaming.”

“You don’t believe me?” Moira sipped her water. “We met more than once.”

“That was because…” Moira made eye contact, and Angela suddenly felt pressured for an answer. “There was an attraction,” she admitted. “Of course there was. I won’t deny that. Why else would I spent hours arguing in circles with you over a point that I know you would never take back? Over ethics or over… anything. You’ve a brilliant mind, but you’re a terrible doctor. I wish you cared about your patients as much as you cared about me.”

“Well,” said Moira. “Most of them wouldn’t bother to give me the time of day.”

“You’re not that scary,” Angela scoffed. “You’re just awkward. You’re… what, forty-eight years old, and you’re still so sensitive. Your parents should have named you Aisling; you’re as dreamy as all that poetic tripe you tried to make me read.”

Moira actually looked offended at that. “It’s culture.”

“I can’t believe you actually read _Finnegans Wake_. You’re a scientist. You should be reading journals or something, not obscure nineteenth-century novels.”

The omnic came around with the bill, and Moira paid before Angela could even check to see how much she owed.

“You’ve paid more than your fair share for travel expenses,” she explained.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Eager to please as always.”

“I can’t believe you managed to remember what an aisling was.”

“Believe me,” she said, “I tried to forget.” Then she realized what she had said, and looked at her. Her eyes felt damp.

Moira’s expression was both pleased and pained. “You’re really something else, Angela.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “There was another one… Yeats. You made me read Yeats. It was one of those stupid arguments we were having over… Oh God. Sonic hedgehog. The protein. You got upset when they changed the name and then we had angry sex and I said I’d never understand what was going through your head—and you said, no, read this, and it was more of your stupid Irish poetry…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “If you can’t appreciate this, if you can’t look beyond silly naming conventions, if you live out all your days as if you’re bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, you’ll miss it.” She wiped her eyes and sucked in a breath. “Everything the world has to offer. You complained I had no imagination. You said you could see us together, and I believed you. Apologize,” she hissed, shaking. She gripped her napkin in one hand. “You said we would work out and we we didn’t, so apologize to me for lying.”

“Christ,” Moira breathed, “I still love you.”

It was strange, walking out of the restaurant with her after making such a scene, and Moira tipped the omnic extra to come up with an excuse as to why Angela was crying. Angela wiped her face, again, elbowed Moira several times as she tried to touch her and then apologized herself for drawing attention to themselves inside the restaurant. They left the alleyway for the main street, which was busy at this hour. Moira stuck out like a sore thumb. Angela continued to turn heads, though she felt worse for having red eyes and a runny nose. She didn’t know what they were going to do after this. She felt awkward and vulnerable and wanted to go to her hotel room and sleep. If Moira had wanted to kidnap her and take her back to Oasis, then her plan was working.

They walked along the streets. Moira walked very close to her, so that her arm brushed Angela’s shoulder, until they reached a train station.

“Here’s my stop,” announced Moira.

Angela stared at her.

“What is it?”

“Your stop?”

“I said I was going to the Gallery, wasn’t I? Or did you believe I was lying about that, too?”

She blinked in disbelief. “You’re not…”

Moira waited for her to continue.

“You’re kidding me,” said Angela. “You’re leaving me here?”

“Wasn’t that the plan? I do have something to give to you, but we don’t need to spend the whole day together to do it.”

She stared off into the distance. Now she was the one sounding foolish. “You’re not going to leave me here.”

“Would you like me to stop by your hotel later,” Moira drawled, “with flowers and a book of your favorite poetry, maybe?” One long arm circled Angela’s waist.

She flushed with anger.

“Say what you want about Yeats, but at least you gave him a chance.” She bent down low and slipped something into Angela’s pocket, murmuring into her hair, “One last present, asthore.” She kissed the top of her head. Then she stood back up and disappeared into the train station, and Angela had never been more glad to see her leave.

She pulled out whatever Moira had deposited into her pocket: a flash card wrapped in a lonely piece of yellow paper. She dropped the card into her purse and unfolded the paper.

There was an address, a date and time—tonight at 20:00—a notation that Angela didn’t immediately recognize, and a crude drawing of a cartoon character.

_7q36.3, 155799984..155812273…_ She frowned. Well, it was Moira. This had to be related to genetics. If 7q36.3 was the locus on the chromosome, then 155799984 and 155812273 were probably the base pairs. She looked down at the drawing, and then noticed a sentence scribbled below it in Moira’s long, looping handwriting: _Check NCBI._

She pulled out her phone and punched the coordinates into the database, feeling ridiculous. The first result was the SHH gene, description “sonic hedgehog [ _Homo sapiens_ (human)]”. They had changed it back.

Angela felt a presence looming over her shoulder.

“Unlike your impeccable Swiss trains, mine appear to be running late today.”

She looked up. “This couldn’t have been your doing.”

“The protein, or the train?”

“Either of them,” said Angela, stupidly.

Moira smiled. “Well, of course not. How could they be?”

It was going to be a very long day.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Buttons for the whole sonic hedgehog thing, which I would not have known otherwise. You too can go to the NCBI website and type in the coordinates! Look at it. It's pretty great.


End file.
